


Glass Spire

by awildlokiappears



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Portal (Video Game), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Clint being a ninja, IronHawk - Freeform, M/M, Natasha's a stone cold bitch, PTSD, Partial Deafness, Tony Being Tony, Tony being awesome, Tony could use one too, Wheatley being a little misogynistic prick, Wheatley's name being misspelled and mispronounced, canon violence from both 'verses, much swearing, sign language usage, so much swearing, total awesome crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:20:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awildlokiappears/pseuds/awildlokiappears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark had known about Aperture, in the broadest sense, for years; and like most of the scientists and engineers he knew, he believed it to be something of a Shangri La, an Avalon. It didn't exist in the real world...until he woke up to a hotel room, a talking eyeball, and Clint Barton sneaking up on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wake up to a Different Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry there's been such a long delay on all my stuff; I've been...having on and off issues in the last several years, so nothing's really gotten finished, edited, etc...well, I'm gonna try and work on that. This is the first edit, and I hope you like this version just as much as you liked the original. I am looking for a beta to keep my ass in gear if anyone's interested! Just drop me a pm!

"Hello, and welcome to the Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment center." Brown eyes, normally ringed with dark circles and the usual smudge of black grease, snapped open at the precisely perfect, female voice that rang through the room...and Tony Stark sat up slowly, the arc reactor in his chest spinning as his stomach turned over, leaving an acidic taste in his mouth. The room he woke to was a curious mixture of old and new; glossy black panels were half-covered in ratty motel wallpaper, complete with false wainscoting, while the ceiling tiles were half gray textured stucco, half featureless white. He was resting on a crappy-looking old mattress, but the springs inside had to be high quality; they barely bowed when he moved, let alone squeaked.

None of it, though, was even remotely familiar to him. Least of all that voice; it grated on his nerves, strung tight as they already were, and put his back up, as Steve would say. Speaking of the big blonde...no, no one was here. He was alone in a room that looked like it was from an Asimov/Grisham novel, clean as a whistle and fully awake...and dressed in a uniform. An orange uniform.

"Fuck this, I'm not in prison; the fuckers didn't try me with a jury..." He muttered to himself, sliding off the bed and reaching for the zipper, tilting his head a little to peer at the insignia on the left side of his chest...only to gape, bug-eyed at a logo that had lurked in the annuls of science for the last twenty-five years. One that he knew far, far too well; Howard Stark had had a lot of...'allies' after the Second World War. "Oh fuck." He stood up and backed away from the bed, eyes darting all over the room. _No Jarvis, no workshop, no Tower...Fucking hell._

"...I'm in Cave freakin' Johnson's playhouse." He whispered hoarsely, brown eyes wide and staring at the frosted-over window, tantalizing shapes beyond it too soft to fully make out...

"Cave Johnson? Who's that, might I ask?" The slightly manic British accent behind him nearly made Tony scream, and he tumbled across the room, facing the door now, one hand pressed to the reactor in his chest, eyes blown wide as...a ball with a big blue eye peered in through the doorway. He was slightly less freaked out by how friendly it looked, but then again, Dummy looked absolutely useless, and was still capable of causing a half-dozen catastrophes in under an hour.

"Who the fuck are you?!" The ball bounced a little, and that same voice emerged, young, late teens maybe, and reminding him of a slightly less haughty Loki.

"I am Wheatley, at your service! I must say, you're quite the surprise! Most, if not all, of the other test subjects aren't nearly as...vocal as you."

"...As vocal?"

"They are rather limited to grunting. You, though...you must have an exceedingly high IQ to withstand the long sleep! So few of our...volunteers did even remotely well as her..." Tony decided to take that as a compliment before his brain snapped back to two little words. _And her...how many subjects did Cave pay to come down here? I know Dad was worried about the handful of women he took on as secretaries and subjects; he always said that a man with Cave's kind of mindset was the worst man to have around women...And Aunt Peggy always did worry so much about one of them in particular...what was her name..._

"Test...subjects?" He spelled out slowly, edging slowly around the other side, wondering if there was any way he could use a drawer as a weapon. Actually, judging by how sturdy it looked, probably... He felt so naked without the suit...The eye seemed to pout a little, and sighed.

"Reverting back, are we? Ah, well..." The eye glanced away for a moment, staring down what might have been a hallway, and looked rather nonplussed. "I didn't expect him to wake so soo-AGHHHHHH!" Tony smashed the heavy bottom of the drawer into the floating ball 'o doom and took off at a dead sprint down the shadow-lined corridor, leaving Wheaton or whatever the fuck its name was long behind...with luck, he'd have damaged either the mobility strut, or the main body of the robot itself. He grinned as ahead of him were a set of the black panels that were opened, and he dove between them, breathing a faint sigh of relief that there was nothing the eyeball could use as a track to follow him.

Fucking love back doors...He glanced up and down the walkway, and decided to head deeper into the darkness, rather than trust the false security of the light above. There was just something...odd about it, and it was something he didn't care for. And if he had any chance at getting out here, it would be down in the bottom levels of the lab; his dad had mentioned that Aperture had started at the bottom, working their literal way to the top. The dark was a little more comforting, anyway; he couldn't pinpoint why, but...Oh well, it wasn't a problem; he was his own damn flashlight.

* * *

The first thing he saw when he woke up was a dingy white ceiling, water-stained and slowly molding. Clint sat up, slowly, moving his hands slowly across the bed he'd been sprawled across, eyes narrowed. There was something wrong about this chintzy old hotel room, something that grated on his sniper's nerves. Assuring himself that there wasn't a bomb beneath him, Hawkeye shifted off the bed and stood up, wobbling a little in the odd boots and jumpsuit he'd been dressed in. Orange, with an odd symbol on the upper right chest...and not a one of his weapons cached on him.

Dammit.

"I'm blaming Stark for this..." He growled out, feeling a little unsettled at how rough his voice was...how long had he been down here? For that matter, where the hell was he? The accoustics were all wrong...Clint's head came up suddenly, and he made his way to the door, testing the knob...and was a little nonplussed when it turned without a squeak under his hand. There had been...something; something that echoed faintly. It sounded like...a dying scream. But a scream from what? _C'mon, Barton...No one else is here...it's up to you to not fuck this up._

He slid out into the hallway, hugging the walls, and blinked to see sunlight...but not true sunlight. This was from a few hundred UV bulbs, mimicking it almost perfectly, but any human would know the difference, if they were coherent. But if they weren't...his skin started to crawl with the sensation was being watched, and Clint began to jog down the hallway, unnerved by the black, featureless panels that lined it. The light ahead of him was poor; enough that even his sharp eyes couldn't penetrate it, and the floor beneath his feet seemed to sway and move, not much, but a man who routinely perched on tall buildings for the hell of it felt the movement almost instinctively.

Crap.

A faint breeze spurred him on, though, and at last he came to a section of the hallway where the panels looked to be in the process of moving; they'd frozen completely into place, leaving slender gaps that led to shadowy service ducts and a walkway...something that made Clint smirk. What was it Tony said? All the best security in the world, and you still need a way to get around it. God, I love back doors. He could even hear it in Tony's voice, that familiar, wicked grin flashing at him whenever they were plotting in the kitchen. Moving the panels out of the way, he slipped inside, taking a moment to get his bearings.

He was farther down than he'd thought; now that he had cool air flowing over him, he tested the scent, wrinkling his nose at the acrid chemical smell. But it didn't burn his sinuses or his eyes, just made things uncomfortable...he could deal with that. He closed his eyes for a moment, spreading his feet and testing the orientation of the place, turning slowly towards the east, where the walkway dipped further into the dark bowels of...wherever the fuck he was. And yet, that was where his instincts were pointing him, and dark eyes narrowed. Normally, he trusted his senses...but he almost was afraid to here. But turning the other way...west...no, that wasn't right, either.

In fact, he felt a sickening chill roll up his spine as he stared up into the lightening corridor. That was the source of the scream...and he realized, he didn't want to go there. Not now. Not ever. God, I wish Natasha was here, or hell, even Tony. Anyone... But no one was, and despite how much it made his stomach twist, he'd have to get out of this on his own. At least he could be very, very sure that he was not to blame for this, even if he couldn't...quite remember how he'd ended up here. But right now, that wasn't important; right now, he had a mission.

So down he fled into the darkness, hoping against hope that he could find a way out...

* * *

It was the footsteps that made Tony stop and look back; there was nothing behind him, but in this gloom, he couldn't tell. It felt like a super-heavy atmospheric effect, but he'd recognized the symptoms a few hours ago, and grimly carried on. There were certain things that a human body could be exposed to that would make food, drink, and even sleep unnecessary; that was the goal of these testing facilities, after all, and Crazy Cave had been one of the best, brightest bastards in that field of biophysics. But the fog had certain...reactions with some people. Tony still felt uneasy, though he chalked that up to being someplace he'd never, ever wanted to set foot in, without his suit, his AI, or his team. Perfectly acceptable reasons to be uneasy...and there they were again.

Tony crouched down, eyes narrowed, and waited, zipping up the body suit to hide the glow of his reactor. Friend or foe, he wanted to be the one to identify first, not they...and he was the only person in the world with a heart of light. He placed a hand on the grating and took a deep breath; there'd been no split offs in the whole time he'd traveled down, so whoever it was had to have come from the panel openings...or from the false light. The steps were light, quick, and firm, and the only reason he'd heard them was because the grating had been coming up in some places. Otherwise...near total silence. His mouth went dry...and then a dark figure came up out of the fog, and Tony's foot snapped out, connecting only with air as the other went airborne, landing with his usual unerring ease on the railing.

"Holy fuck, Stark, the least you could do was warn a guy!" Clint's angry, raspy baritone could have made Tony weep; instead, he barked out a rough laugh and stood up, crossing his arms.

"And who was it who told me never trust a guy?" Clint blinked, and gave him a weak grin. It was hard to tell in the gloom, but the big blond looked alright, wearing the same boots and orange jumpsuit, and just as weaponless as himself.

"Touche. Not to put too fine a point on it, but man, am I glad to see you..." Tony just smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, easing back to lean on the railing as Clint joined him standing up. Clint draped himself over the steel and nodded to the jumpsuit Tony wore, a silent understanding that the engineer appreciated.

"Good to see you too, Barton. I take it you don't have any idea where we are?"

"Not a fuckin' clue." Tony sighed and brushed back his hair, rubbing his face.

"Okay, unfortunately for me, I very much do...we're in Aperture Science. We're in the labs that scientists the world over consider Avalon. And we're trapped here." Clint blinked, and Tony shook his head. "It's like Steve's glacier, only more diabolical. Aperture ran a massive testing program from the 1950's on; the creator, Cave Johnson, briefly, very briefly, worked with my old man. The difference is that while my father was a master weapons designer, at least dear old Dad was honest about what he did, and tried to only sell to those he thought were on the right path. Cave didn't give a damn about anyone other than himself."

"And...this dude was batshit crazy, I take it?"

"Batshit is putting it mildly. He died of moon-rock cancer."

"...No fucking way."

"Way. Now, c'mon. We gotta get out of here. I don't know about you, but I want my shop, my suit, and my damn Tower, in that order."

"But...how?" Tony turned and looked at him, and Clint shrugged. Tony hated the lighting down here, but yanking down his reactor helped break it up with the familiar blue glow, and he could see the worry and yes, fear in the archer's eyes. Clint didn't go in for this kinda shit, and Tony didn't want to think about what might happen if he found out that they were very, very, very deep underground. "You said this place was like Avalon; no one leaves it, then. Right?" Tony just smirked.

"...No one puts Tony in a corner."

* * *

A few hours later, Tony was grinning; they'd finally hit a jackpot of sorts. Clint watched as the engineer led him down a much older passageway now, one with branchings that led elsewhere, but none of them were what Tony wanted. It was...fascinating to watch; really, Clint was content to let Tony lead, because it meant he could watch the engineer make some truly spectacular deductions. Like the corridor that led to the incinerator; somehow, Tony had known by the feel of the metal that that was a bad way to go, and sure enough, not five minutes later, hot fire had spouted, leaving Clint faintly in awe...though he was very careful to look bored.

How he knew where things were, Clint had no clue; he chalked it up to crazy-scientist-syndrome and just sat back for the ride, though his fingers itched a little, and he wished he had his bow. Not that he couldn't kill a man sixty ways to Sunday with just his hands, but still...it was a comfort thing. Tony seemed to understand; one hand was constantly tapping on his reactor's surface, something that had been a constant source of confusion until the rest of the team had seen the footage from Jarvis...and the gaping, dark hole where Obadiah Stane had ripped Tony's heart out.

So, now, they understood...and really, it was reassuring for the whole Tower now, since without Tony's reactor, and without Tony...they'd have all been a fucked up little group with nothing to their names. Instead, Iron Man gave them a home, and Tony showed them his heart. He still remembered when the storms had blown through New York, and Tony had turned himself into a power outlet for light, phones, warmth...Dammit, now he just wanted to go home. Or on a mission, so long as it was anywhere but here.

"Alright, birdbrain. We're here." 'Here' could have been rather loosely defined, but Clint had the sinking feeling that it was the opening in the wall, so similar to the one far, far behind them, and yet...different. The panels were jagged here, broken and falling apart, and the floor dingy, dusty. Peering the gloom, he realized that the fluorescents were gone, and what light inside was washed out, filtered from far above them. But there was space and light above them now, and it wasn't the eerie shit he'd seen earlier.

"You sure about this?"

"Sure as Steve draws Dummy. I know it looks fuckin' freaky, but I promise, there's nothing harmful inside. One good thing about Aperture, unlike Umbrella, is that if someone died, they fucking stay dead here." He paused, staring at Tony.

"Umbrella? The pharmaceutical company?"

"...Forget I said anything about them." Clint gave him a look, and Tony gave him one right back, eyes narrow. "Later. Right now, we need weapons...and the offices are the first, and best, place to check."

"Thought you said there was no one down here."

"...Nobody that's squishy. The tech's what you gotta worry about."


	2. Stuck in the Middle With You

The computers were long since fried, but Clint gathered up cording and parts nonetheless, fashioning as long a rappelling line as he could out of the plastic and copper. The grappling hook Tony had half-assed sketched out with a piece of burnt metal went together mostly right, and Clint tested the strength with his weight, satisfied when he didn't fall flat on his ass. It didn't fold up like his other ones, and he'd have to be careful about it catching (or not catching, that'd be the BIGGER problem), but coiling up the makeshift rope, he had to admit that Stark wasn't half-bad at this MacGuyver thing.

 _It's gotta run in the genes; I remember Cap always talking about the elder Stark coming up with a bazillion and one things, and still managing to make most of them happen even with a shit budget and y'know, Nazis. And then there's Tony, who fashioned the first suit out of like a half-dozen missiles, built a mini arc reactor out of scraps, and blew the ever-loving fuck out of that one terrorist cell in Afghanistan. Definitely made my mission a fuckton easier; that's right, that was the first big mission SHIELD set me solo on...god, has it really been that long_? He sat back, adding up the years, and realized that yeah, it had been. Eight years...wow.

At the moment, Tony was sorting through a pile of tech up to his waist, casually throwing the discarded pieces over his shoulder with an expletive and the occasional grimace. Clint just grinned a little and glanced over the abandoned offices once more as he wove cords together in a complicated braid. When the scientists had left, they'd also abandoned their research; two of the four hours they'd spent here already had been filled with Tony's frantic reading of everything he could get his greedy paws on, and Clint was grateful that he'd taken the time to translate to idiotese for him…because what was in those papers had stopped the archer cold.

They created portals…real life, honest to god portals, not just put a hole in a wall. The drawings and photographs were simple, and chillingly honest; the one of the guy grinning and waving from the ceiling after sticking his arm into the wall nearly made Clint panic right then and there. Add to the turret designs of the little walking robots that were supposed to shoot the shit out of intruders…he shivered, just a little. It was more than terrifying, and he hated being without weapons and his partner. Natasha would have been nonplussed, sure, but…she adapted to roles like this easily.

Clint didn't. Not like this. He was a sniper, for god's sake; he focused down the barrel of a rifle or the shaft of an arrow, and he took out the target, packed up, went home. He didn't…he didn't do things like this, deep under the earth. That alone had nearly made him panic; he wasn't claustrophobic, but he hated being so far from the sky, from air that wasn't staving off his hunger and thirst. He hated being without the team…without his team. Without Natasha and Phil, and Hill bitching at all of them, and Jasper making fun of Phil over the coms.

"Hey, birdbrain." Clint rolled his eyes at the nickname, and turned to see Tony staring down at a tablet, examining the spider-webbed surface, eyes steadfastly avoiding his, and Clint bit back a groan. Goddammit, don't let this turn into a talk about feelings...

"What?" Tony sighed a little, tossing the tablet aside. He crossed the lab again, clearly agitated and nervy, one hand tapping his reactor, the other tangling through his already mussed up hair. This was what Nat liked to call 'bitchy Stark'; she must've gotten that from Pepper.

"Wondering what the team's up to." The archer shrugged, hunching a little over his braiding and wondering that a little himself. If they even know we're gone...

"Probably trying to figure out where the fuck our stupid asses got lost." A snort came from the genius now buried in the trash pile, and Tony just snickered.

"…We really need to stop drinking together, don't we?"

"Yeah, but then Natasha loses her blackmail."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want that. But something tells me this wasn't the result of a bender."

"Hate to say this, but I agree. Last thing I remember is falling asleep on the couch across from you." Tony gave him an odd look over his shoulder, and straightened up.

"…Were we watching Wall-E?" Clint gave him a similar look, swallowing back the sudden rise of nervousness.

"Yeah…"

"And then we woke up here, you to a scream, me to a talking eyeball...Oh, hell no." Tony tossed the last of the computer parts aside and held up a scrap of paper, this one much older than the research papers left behind...and he snarled. Their photos, newer ones at odds with the paper they were stapled to, were half-covered in notations and figures, and Clint instinctively moved away from it, holding his line like a teddy bear to his chest.

"We were kidnapped."

* * *

 

To say that Tony was pissed was an understatement; the engineer's face had twisted when Clint's mouth had popped open and said those three little words, and he growled, tossing the paper aside. It had shown little more than their heights, weights, and simple drawings of a bow and his repulsor system…but it was too much. He snarled a little and kicked a monitor in; he fucking hated getting kidnapped, hated it like he hated Justin Hammer and being handed shit.

Except this…this was far worse. He had no idea where to go; there wasn't something so simple as schematics or a fucking map or blueprint to show them the way out, and in a massive ass abandoned salt mine made over into an enormous scientific testing facility? It was like working through a rabbit warren, except that Wonderland wasn't on the other side. So, he rubbed his face and tried to think…tried to think of something, anything, that might help them out. Unfortunately…the only way left for them to go was back out into the service ducts, and he didn't think there was much more left in the darkness…which meant they had to turn towards the light.

_Fuck._

"Hey, Tony?" It was odd to hear Clint use his name; most of the time it was Doctor Robotnik or Stark or Iron Man…of course, he always called the archer Link or Barton or Hawkass.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell is that?" Tony turned to where Clint was pointing through the glazed window, into a former storage room, he figured…where a pair of odd looking weapons hung from simple cradles, grasping claws on the front looking rather terrifying.

"I have no idea. Shall we?" Hawkeye shrugged and set his coil of computer rope down to walk over and shoulder aside the broken glass panel. Tony slipped by him and hopped down into the room, slowly examining the weapons before even daring to touch one. He knew most of the tech wasn't too violent in terms of activation here; that was one thing he'd kept from his father's rants about Cave, and he was thankful, for a change, that he had. The guns, he supposed they were guns, were simple to use, with a toggle switch above the trigger that intrigued him, and slowly, he pulled it on over his arm, pointing it at the white paneled wall…

And pulled the trigger.

A beam of red energy blasted from the tip, and knocked him back a little; when he looked up at Clint's intake of breath, his eyes went wide.

"Holy fuck…"

"Stark, you just created a portal."

* * *

 

Clint stared, wide-eyed, as Tony preceded to toggle the switch over, and a similar beam of energy, this one gold, shot out to form a second portal…and they had the oddest experience of looking in one, and seeing themselves in the other. He sat down on his ass on the ledge, absolutely stunned as Tony began to jump back and forth between them, his manic grin growing until it was almost terrifying, and the archer shivered a little, too nervous still to even shift closer to the other gun.

This was…wow. This was science of a level that left Iron Man and The Hulk in the dust, science so profound and dangerous as to traverse on the realm of the gods…and he knew Thor would probably just be proud of his 'human friends' for rediscovering it. Loki, on the other hand…He resolutely shut out those dangerous green eyes and fought to control his breathing, willing calmness into himself despite the fact that his control was badly shaken.

_...he's not here, he's not here, he's not here- **How sure are you, Agent Barton? How positive can you be? The lovely Agent Romanoff, she's such a vixen, now isn't she? Would be a shame if I simply...took control of her too...** NO!_

"Clint?" Tony's voice broke the spiral of emotion and terror, and Clint clung to it, turning wide, scared blue eyes to confused brown, understanding slowly dawning between them. "Hey…whatcha need?" Not for the first time, he was thankful that the genius understood, that all of his team understood, that they all got each other, and Clint reached out with a shaky hand and tugged on Tony's suit, pulling him close enough to rest his head against the other man's chest. A familiar, usually grease-stained hand stroked through his hair, hesitantly at first, but gaining strength, and he settled his breathing, realizing that Tony was doing the same.

"Normally, I don't condone this sort of touchy-feely crap…but we're kinda out of the realm of normal, so just let me know if you need something, okay? I know this isn't really your favorite sort of place, and its gotta fuck with you right now…But…um….fuck, I really suck at this-" He snorted, faintly, and just clung to the jumpsuit.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"Just...just shut the fuck up."

"…Gotcha."


	3. Falling Through the Looking Glass

“Tony, this is such a bad idea.”

“I know, it's one of mine after all.”

“Such a fucking bad idea, dude.” Clint repeated, staring over the edge of the yawning pit that was at the end of the office spaces they'd spent the last however many hours exploring. He was equipped with one of the portal guns now himself; they'd passed a little bit of time exploring his blue and purple beams and how they corresponded with each other, and worked out a pretty reasonable plan of action. Which meant that Clint was seriously considering the idea Tony had presented, that they had to go down before they went up...and that meant dropping into the bowels of Aperture itself, the very base of operations for the entire setup.

They were so fucked.

He took a deep breath, letting it out as he adjusted the gun on his left arm, shifting a little to check that the arms of his jumpsuit were still securely tied around his waist, leaving his black tank bare to the cool air. He'd left his grappling hook and line wrapped around his chest, while Tony was still busy making calculations and peeling down his own jumpsuit.

“Almost ready?”

“Almost, just gimme a sec....There. Alright. Now, the plan?”

“You shoot your red beam, I fire my purple on the opposite wall.”

“Then the yellow and blue ones. Right. Work our way down the pipe by jumping between the portals.”

“Christ, this is totally not cool, dude.” Tony just snorted and flapped his hand and gun a little, grinning that scary, maniacal grin of his that had sent more than a few of their enemies scuttling away. Funny how no one was ever terrified of Captain America after the first few engagements, but the moment someone mentions Tony's 'experimental tech', they all go running...

“...Really, Barton? This is coming from the guy who routinely plays 'Catch the Archer' with the Hulk?”

“I trust Jolly Green, thank you very much, Iron Ass.” He shot back, giving the engineer a half-hearted glare, only to get a laugh in return. “Look, this is still fuckin' scary, dude; I don't like going even deeper into this rat's nest.”

“I know, I know, but trust me, the way out of these old salt mines is always through the one point no one remembers; to do that, we have to find the old part of Aperture, when Cave wasn't as careful, and he didn't have the super computer fully operational. There's always a way out; you know that better than anyone.”   
  
Clint sighed but gave him a rueful smile, chuckling as he crouched down now, aiming for the white rectangle Tony had designated as his first target. Tony moved around to the opposite edge, and flashing him a half-salute, fired the first beam just as Clint pulled the trigger on his own. The portal opened, just as they'd practiced, and they fired the second round, these ones now perpendicular to the first pair, and lower down. The plan was to jump through them, and use the velocity to make their way down the enormous old pitfall...now, the hardest part was that neither of them had any idea where that pit might end...  
  
And that's why Clint had made Tony put on the second thing he'd spent their time up here working on; a pair of harnesses, and another grappling hook and rope for Tony too. It wasn't ideal, but it might just save their asses if it all went to hell.

“Ready?” That was Tony, just the tiniest waver of fear in his voice, and Clint had to grin, nodding.

“Ready.” With that, Clint tossed himself off into the abyss, executing a perfect midair tumble, and using that momentum, he flashed into the red portal...and Tony followed a moment after, disappearing into the purple before they both reappeared, both screaming now as they shot the next two sets of portals into the walls, though whether it was through fear or adrenaline, not even Clint could say. He whooped as he passed through the third set, Tony a bare hair above him, and aimed for the fourth, a careless grin dancing over his face as he shot with perfect precision. The purple beam opened for him....and suddenly, there was no featureless white before him, only open air...

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!” He screamed as Tony crashed into him from above, and they both went tumbling through the air, their careful trajectories absolutely screwed now. It was Tony who saw the lone piece of white below them, and the wall of the building not too far away from it, and he got Clint's attention by howling in his ear, latching on to the archer like a leech.

“FIRE AT THE FUCKING FLOOR TILES AND THAT WALL! NOW!” Clint hissed a little as he grabbed at the archer's hair, and took aim, eyes sighting down the fat gun on his arm as sure as any sniper scope, and in an instant, the portal was opened, and they fell through it....with Clint landing flat on his back, hard, Tony slamming down on top of him as the world righted itself and dimly, Clint realized they were next to the wall, on a bunch of dead and dying weeds. And Tony Stark was a lot fucking heavier than he looked; he hadn't had the wind knocked out of him like that since the last round of sparring he'd done with Nat.

“Off, Iron Ass, I can't breathe.” He croaked out, giving Tony's shoulder a light shove. The engineer wrinkled his nose at him and rolled off, flipping him off as he eased up onto his heels and scanned the area, looking for all the world like a demented, orange-clad ferret. Clint sighed and sat up with a groan, rubbing his head and shaking off the dry flakes of leaf litter and decades-old dust, standing up at last to stroll around.   
  
“Alright, what's the plan now?” Tony just shrugged loosely, matching him stride for stride as they began to explore. The bottom of the complex was clearly designed just after the last World War; heavy shades of yellowish-cream and burnt orange lay under gray salt dust in the same, trademark craftsman style that had reigned in the fifties-era government buildings. Tony just chuckled as he set one hand on his hips.

“Well, that's pretty damn obvious. We get the fuck outta here.”

* * *

 

Tony scratched at his throat, feeling an uncharacteristic itch all over his skin as he walked down memory lane into the first building. It was...it was all too much like the laboratories under Manhattan, out in the desert...those had been his first homes, after all, not the mansion in New York. This...this was memory and life and a family broken before it ever had a chance to become. It made his fucking skin crawl.

“Any idea what direction we need to go?” Clint's voice was soft, a little tired and none too curious for a change, and Tony almost blessed that lack, because today was not a day he wanted to spend holed up in his memories and the lost cause that was his life. He only smiled faintly at the archer and waved a hand toward the lab at the back. They were surrounded by a complex of squat buildings, administration up front, the labs in the back. He felt his stomach churn a bit at some of the signage; Cave really had been a sadistic bastard. He was just glad he'd never met him.

“Let's head in here; knowing my old man and his associates, there's always a back door out of places like these.”

“Really now? And how do we go about finding that, huh?” Tony chuckled and started examining the beige carpeting, yanking up whole sections as he went.

“We examine every nook and cranny, and look for anything that seems out of place.”

“Oh. Gotcha. Like this?” A shit-eating grin spread across the archer's face as he leaned against one wall, where a faint seam could be seen in just the right light....and Tony started laughing lightly.

“That right there. Thanks, Hawkass.” Clint just flashed him a swift grin and nodded, and Tony came over to push on the wall. It budged maybe an inch, and both men had to shove it finally to the side, grunting and sweating for their efforts. Tony surveyed the entrance, and the dark hallway beyond it, and grinned a little. “Alrighty, now that we've found something that we weren't supposed to...let's cobble together a few more things and get a little rest, eh?” Clint gave him a faint look.

“I thought we couldn't sleep in this place?” Technically, he was right; the chemicals in the air that kept them from being hungry or thirsty would also keep them from sleeping; true REM sleep wouldn't happen down here unless you were actually put under, like he presumed they had been when they'd been brought here. But the chemicals would only work for so long, or so he presumed; it wasn't his area of expertise, and Bruce was nowhere around to ask, so he could only theorize. That the chemicals were still active bothered him; Cave was dead now almost forty years, and while Aperture hadn't died with him, not completely...  
  
Well, it certainly wasn't as thriving as it had once been. And Tony had no intention of being one of the other lost souls this place had claimed. Nor did he intend for that fate to befall Clint; whatever else the archer might be, he was his teammate, and he'd had a pretty shitty life, certainly far shittier than his own. And Tony, spoiled though he had been, at least knew that whatever else he'd suffered, he had had Jarvis, who he knew full well had loved him. Clint, well...He gave the archer a grin that he didn't really feel, but seeing Clint's answering slow smile made him at least feel a bit better.

“We don't need to, but you and I both know that that might not remain the same. So let's get a little shut-eye and some scavenging done, then we'll head out.” Clint sighed, and nodded, eyes roaming over the lab as he began to search it, and Tony glanced down into the darkness, shifting his own black shirt down enough to let the cool blue light of his reactor wash over the staircase leading up. “Alright...we can do this. We....we can do this. Right?”


	4. Interlude: Respite, Residency, and Revenge...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys wanted an interlude chapter, so here you go! And there's maaaaaaaaaybe a little more crossing over happening! Just preliminary stuff right now, because villains be hatin'.

Natasha stared at the aggravating little dot that blinked steadily away on her tablet screen; part of her wanted to absolutely just forgo all of her training and smash the device against the wall, then utterly destroy everything in the room. Unfortunately, for all the temporary good it might do her temper, it was hardly going to solve the problem at hand...and it wouldn't bring Clint and Tony back. And at this point, twelve weeks after their disappearance that fateful night, she wasn't even sure anything would...except that Jarvis was adamant that the sub-dermal trackers under both their biceps were fully functional, and that both men were very much alive. Hell, he even knew where they were, down to within a few feet.  
  
The problem, however, was something much more sinister than any of the other heroes could have anticipated. Tony and Clint were trapped in Aperture Science's labyrinth of a salt mine-turned-laboratory, and according to Jarvis's vital signs, had been in cryo-sleep for most of the last three months...until yesterday. Yesterday, when first Tony, then barely thirty minutes later, Clint, woke up and according to the satellite data, moved deeper into the complex. Now, the tricky part here was figuring out their motives, if they had anyway; logically, Natasha would have expected that the pair would move upwards, towards the surface. 

However, they'd instead dove deeper, deep enough that Bruce had had to boost the Stark satellites with a few borrowed from SHIELD, and even then, the trackers were faint. And all Jarvis could do with them was report basic signs of life; they had no way of monitoring vitals, nothing. And in that, she was a little angry at Tony, and to some extent, Jarvis; the whole team had woken up that night to the emergency lights flashing, but no alarms, no Jarvis, and no Tony and Clint to be found. Bruce had finally been able to reboot Jarvis, but it had taken nearly a week, and help from Reed Richards to do it. Even now, Jarvis clearly had spots of broken code, spots that Bruce was working hard to fix, yet more still popped up...thankfully, Tony's back up system was a more basic AI, so they were still safe in the Tower.  
  
She ran a hand through her curls and sighed, setting the tablet down and scrubbing her face, closing her eyes to the headache curling behind her left eye. Her partner was down in a tech god's own hellhole, and she had no way of getting him home. No way at all...  
  
"Tasha?" She waved a hand at Steve, who took a seat quietly next to her, and rubbed a big hand over her shoulders, just rubbing at the tension. It wasn't exactly what she cared for right now, but...it felt good, and she rode with it, letting him push her body back and forth.  
  
"Yeah, I know..." They'd already tried the direct approach, landing on top of the mines and trying to get in...but the tech was far more advanced than anything even Tony had available, and with Tony himself stuck down below, well...After Hulk had been knocked unconscious after a particularly rough bolt of energy, Steve had called a retreat as he and a grim Rhodey dragged Bruce's transforming body out of the line of fire. They'd retreated in full after he'd returned to normal...and left it to Coulson to explain to both Pepper and Fury. All of them had wounds from that fight; Tasha even now shifted painfully and pushed off Steve's hand with a grimace. Broken ribs for her weren't as bad as they were for a normal person, but they still sucked.  
  
"We'll get them back, okay? I promise." He'd shifted back, not bothered in the least by her withdrawal, and offered a pillow instead for her to lean on; she took with a weary smile.  
  
"...you know, when you say that, I just might actually believe you. But...right now, I can't. I don't deal in hope on a mission." It sounded callous, but...there it was. It was true, though; she didn't have the energy to spare, nor the trust that that hope would come through. If tomorrow, they were able to storm the mine and bring back the two idiots, and she got to sneak a not-so-unemotional hug to the big blond she called her best friend, then yeah, she'd be happy...but if all they could bring back were bodies, well...Steve's eyes were sad, and she took a little comfort in the fact that at least he understood. He didn't like it, but he understood.  
  
"I know...Do you feel up to a little bit of supper? Bruce made up chicken and dumplings."  
  
"...You know, that sounds really good right now." And it did; they all ended up around the island in the kitchen, Thor going over all the information they'd gleaned about Aperture, Bruce doing some complicated long form math and calculations based on the relative locations of both men, and Steve was building a game plan. Tasha, she watched over all of it, eyes quiet, unfocused,  yet taking in every word, every movement around her. It was how she extrapolated the best solution to her problem...down to the very last bullet she shot, or the last knife blade she drew. Such a plan always changed, of course, but fluidity was her greatest gift.  
  
As she gazed at the little, half-smudged logo, the plan settled in her mind, and she smiled; it would not be easy to persuade both Thor, and the Asgardians, that she needed Loki's assistance...After all, there was still red in her ledger...and it seemed fitting that he be the instrument to wipe it out.  


* * *

  
"...the cake is a lie...the cake! The cake is a lie..."  
  
"He's useless, sir...he's been driven insane by the AI down there. Please, allow us to...place him in a safe environment." The tall, blond man raised a hand, halting his assistant's carefully rehearsed speech, and turned now to the raving lunatic restrained next to the gleaming conference table. A flicker of a smile touched his lips, then vanished, his eyes hidden behind the dark shades, and the Chairman leaned in, studying Rattman with every evidence of bored curiosity. The other man held his breath; the Chairman had grown strict as of late with the testing and while he answered to the authority before him...he also answered to the annoyed lead scientist that ran the labs down below, and without another test subject, he might just decide that his lackey would suffice...  
  
"...Yes, I'm afraid there's nothing that can be gleaned from him. Take him to the care wards; he was a colleague, once upon a time, and deserves to rest in his remaining years." Relief very nearly made him smile; he managed to school his expression into understanding concern, and very gently wheeled the man out of the room, though they would not be going to the wards, no...or rather, not the ones the Chairman believed existed. Douglas Rattman had indeed been one of their fellow colleagues in the field of bio-mechanics, biophysics, and biochemistry; though he'd worked faithfully for Aperture, he'd been well known even to the employees across the globe.  
  
It was a pity, but there was no point in wasting a perfectly good subject, Dr. Issacs believed, and frankly, the assistant didn't much care for a portion of his wages going to pay for an insane invalid's care...but his contribution might very well prove to be the breakthrough Issacs and his team were looking for...and who knew? Perhaps this time, the virus would find its perfect host...

* * *

  
_-run lifeform scan 04012016...  
-detecting...­  
-detecting...  
-3 lifeforms detected.  
-listing data..._  
**-Stark, Anthony Edward.**  
_**-known aliases: Iron Man.  
-threat level: moderate.  
-IQ: 173.  
-H: 6 feet, 0 inches.  
-W: 164 lbs.**_  
**-Barton, Clinton Francis.**  
_**-known aliases: Hawkeye.  
-threat level: inferior.  
-IQ: 110.  
-H: 6 feet, 4 inches.  
-W: 182 lbs.**_  
**-unknown...**  
_**-known aliases: unknown.  
-threat level: unknown.  
-IQ: unknown.  
-H: unknown.  
-W: unknown.**_  
_-risk assessment scan 04062016..._  
_-detecting..._  
 _-detecting..._  
 _-detecting..._  
 _-detecting..._  
**-dispatch turrets to lower levels.**  
 **-dispatch turrets to middle levels.**  
 **-dispatch turrets to upper levels.**  
_-uploading:_ This is Cave Johnson.mpeg...

* * *

Wheatley studied the data streaming through his main processing board and heaved a sigh; his mobility struts were nearly finished in the refurbishing lab, and soon he'd be back to strolling along the passages with the ease he was used to...doing the same old things he'd been doing for the last, oh, five years. Somewhere above him, SHE had finally managed to figure out that two of their newest subjects had escaped into the lowest levels of the mine...though he was proud that he'd kept his little secret from the pissy bucket of bolts upstairs. Oh yes, his little, mute, blindly devoted secret...the same secret that was going to get him exactly where he deserved to be. Where he belonged, thank you very much!  
  
He was so much _better_ than all of these...pathetically stupid turrets and other cores, he was the _pinnacle_ of AI! His creator had certainly told him that enough, and frankly, he believed it. And why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't he believe that he wasn't the greatest of Aperture's creations! He deserved to be in _**her**_ seat of power, oh yes he did...and his little secret was going to get him there. She was doing exactly what he needed her to do right now, while those two idiots hared off into the rotten core of this subterranean hellhole...  
  
And now that he was finally rid of crazy old Rattman, he was finally able to lay out some real groundwork for his next plan...and loathe though he was work alongside a mere human, he had to admit, this new company had quite a lot going for them...not in the least the fact that they were so happy to experiment on every species under the sun. Wheatley had no interest in preserving or aiding human life; indeed, he had every intention of using his considerable charm (and even more considerable 'wallet') to gain the assistance of every one of Umbrella's employees that he could to get him that delightful set of viral cocktails they were creating...  
  
And then, well...he almost wished he could grin, right now. Revenge was going to be so, so... _sweet._


	5. Up, and Up Again

Either they really were more tired than they realized, or the chemical concentration just wasn't as thick down here, but Tony woke up feeling at least a little better, his body stiff but rested. He and Clint had bedded down in a corner of the lab, under a pair of ratty old army blankets they'd scavenged from the medical office that was connected to this building, on a truly ancient twin-sized mattress. But everything was relatively clean; both the blankets and the mattress had been wrapped in plastic, so there wasn't any dust other than what lay on the desktops and floor, and in the lab itself, there was hardly any at all, so they'd spent the five hours actually comfortable....

Even though Barton spooned him rather obnoxiously. But it was chilly down here, and Tony might have been picky, but he was also pragmatic; had they slept apart, they'd never have gotten warm enough to actually rest...And Clint was a nice cuddler, though he'd never, ever tell him that to his face. It was bad enough he'd made Tony blush, worse that he'd actually been a considerate co-sleeper, not breathing in his ear or snoring. Nope, he'd just dropped off into a pretty easy nap, and not long after, Tony had as well. 

They had a set of trip wires attached to a few bits of metal they'd found, and they were surrounded by the desks in a pretty damn impressive fort, if Tony said so himself, so neither of them were worried about being snuck up on. It was possible, but...unlikely. And besides, there wasn't a single bit of tech down here that still worked; the only light that came in to the bottom of the mine glittered off the few salt deposits here and there in the cavern from the enormous pit. So, they'd finally gotten a chance to feel safe and let down their guards...and Tony stretched back against Clint, finally conceding to his body's need to move.  
  
Clint, for his part, didn't make it awkward. In fact, he rolled back and yawned widely as he stretched as well, cracking everything back into place with a soft groan. Tony sat up with a similar noise and yawned himself.  
  
"Well, we're not dead."  
  
"And we slept. I take it you're not that weirded out by the whole...thing?" Clint's eyes were calm, but there was something...worried in the back of them, and Tony felt himself soften a little. It wasn't Clint's fault he was a cuddler; from what Tasha had told them, it was just how he reassured himself that whoever he was with was safe. He'd snuggled up to both Steve and Thor before, and he and Natasha had had a thing a long time ago, though they mostly slept together for comfort now. Not that Tony judged, by any means; all anyone had to do was ask Pepper.  
  
"Nah, dude. You're quite the heater, so like hell I'm gonna bitch." He grinned at that, all boyish charm and teeth, and Tony had to swallow the surge of butterflies in his stomach. He really, really, really did not need to be reminded that Clint was ridiculously attractive any day of the week, but especially not today. He started folding up his blanket to distract himself, and Clint went solemn again.  
  
"That's a good idea, we don't know if we'll need them, and they might be old, and kinda jacked up from the moths a bit, but they're still mostly sturdy, and warm. Lemme make some straps here..." He'd somehow made a knife back up in the offices from a piece of razor sharp metal and some cording; now, he cut off the jumpsuit's sleeves, made himself a quick and hasty belt, then used the other strips to make straps for both of them to secure the blankets to their backs. His skill at knotwork was pretty impressive; the straps were comfortable enough, and he made a quick and dirty parachute type bracelet to carry the rest of the line with them.  
  
"...Damn, color me a Boy Scout." Clint snorted, laughing a little.  
  
"Were you even a Cub Scout, Stark?"  
  
"...no, but I did learn a lot of the same stuff. Were you?" Clint shrugged, but he looked a little shy, and Tony just reattached the gun to his right arm, waiting him out.  
  
"...For a few years, yeah. But after Mom and Dad died, the nuns, they couldn't afford it, so I just learned the rest at the circus. Rigging takes the same knots, mostly, so it wasn't a huge stretch."  
  
"...Fair enough. You ready?" He took a deep breath, strapping on his own portal gun, and nodded.  
  
"No, but I really want to go home."  
  
"Then let's get the fuck out of here."

* * *

  
The stairs were long, winding, old as fuck, and dusty; Tony sacrificed his sleeves to make them both dust masks to at least combat some of the shit getting into their lungs, and to minimize both sound and how much they had to breathe, they settled back into sign language and gestures. Clint didn't mind that Tony was a little rusty; it was only to be expected, since his surgery a few months ago, his hearing had improved immensely, and he only ever wore his aids now if he'd had a particularly loud battle. Down here, the quiet was almost ominous; he could feel even vibrations in the air, it seemed like.  
  
And through the stone steps, the walls...he kept one hand on the right wall as they ascended slowly, taking note of any major vibrations. There hadn't been in the lowest levels; small wonder, power had been shut off decades ago, before Cave had croaked, and whoever ran the place now clearly didn't care about the derelict origins of the company. Thankfully, though, this old emergency staircase was in relatively good shape; the steps were a little worn, probably from drills, but only a little, and though the dust and occasional water spots made them a little more slick, it really wasn't that bad.  
  
He was grateful for their gear, though; the jumpsuits were thicker in the pants portion, and the boots were fantastic, easy to move in, lightweight, and could handle an impact incredibly well. They had slightly higher soles than he was used to, but the upside was the flexibility, so he brushed off the extra two inches without much thought. Tony was already working on ways to duplicate them, something that Clint was all for (Natasha would LOVE them, she hated stiff combat boots with no give), though he was glad that the engineer had tabled that thought for another time.  
  
Especially now...Tony raised his fist, the classic army sign for 'stop', and both of them peered slowly around the corner, barely exposing themselves. There was a soft click-click-click over the metal grating that jutted out from this entrance in the cavern wall, and just as Clint was about to slip out, the robot came around the catwalk's corner, opposite them now.  
  
It was a shiny white...turret looking thing, with a big red eye that scoped out the area of the catwalk and the wall, and an even bigger gun below it. It spidered about on three legs, but its depth perception seemed like it was pretty short; it hardly noticed them watching it, and turned to meander back along the catwalk...which, unfortunately, seemed to be the only way for them to get further. The staircase went no further.  
  
_"So, what do we do now?"_ Tony's tap on his shoulder, and subsequent signing, made Clint scratch his head, still studying the long expanse of metal that spanned across to the other side of the cavern. Because of the haze in the air, he couldn't quite make out the other side well, though the cage that covered the top of the walkway held some promise...  
  
_"Well, we don't go running into that thing. Look, see the cage over this whole thing?"_ Tony nodded, glancing over his shoulder to study it again, then turned back. _"Well, we have one of two choices; go under, or go over. I'm voting for over, because that gives us a chance to rest, and we stand a better chance of escaping fast."  
  
"And if we were to go under?"  
  
"Well, I don't know about you, but our inital fall was about a half-mile; this looks like it's a full one. And we have at least two more miles, maybe more, to go up. I do not feel like hanging like a damn chimpanzee and wearing myself out, only to end up squishy on the bottom of a salt mine."  
  
"...Fair point. Over it is. But, how are we getting on top of it without our little friend, and presumably, his little friends, noticing?"  
  
"We time it, then squirrel up it fast enough to make Doreen proud."_ Tony grinned at that, and after watching the little turret make a couple more guard rounds, they went for it. Clint flung himself up first; he was the ex-carnie after all, and his gymnastic ability far outstripped Tony's. He landed as quietly as a pigeon might, and caught Tony's hands to swing him up when the engineer made his own run and jump; yanking him close, he spared a glance down at the turret...who passed underneath them without even noticing the difference. Turning back to Tony with a grin that crinkled his eyes, he blinked.  
  
The engineer was staring at him, brown eyes wide, a flush on his cheeks, and he was _biting his lip_ under the mask, he had to be. Clint swallowed down the sudden gush of butterflies in his belly, and carefully stepped back, but only letting him go after they'd both crouched down. Tony's flush was still there, but his eyes lost that deer in the headlights stare, and were calculating now as they looked out over the catwalk now; there were at least a dozen of the little turrets marching cheerfully about, and it'd take all their skill to get across in one piece. And it wouldn't be easy; there were some pretty big gaps they'd have to cross, that much Clint could tell.  
  
_"Alright, so, we're gonna be at this for a while."_  
  
_"Hey, slow and steady wins the race, man; yeah, we both wanna get home, but..."_  
  
_"There's no point in fucking up now. And if they're patrolling this level..."_  
  
_"They're probably on all the others. So on alert."_ Which meant now, they'd drop from the more formal actual sign language to basic signs and touch. Clint was the first to start working his way across the grating, crouching low and moving almost on hands and knees, Tony right alongside him.  
  
The first big gap they came to, Clint studied it for a long moment, then carefully, slowly grasped the exposed beam in front of them, and bent himself over the gap, effectively making a bridge of his own body once he'd set both feet firmly on the grating on the other side; Tony scrambled across quickly, and helped bring Clint over by virtue of holding on to his belt. They repeated the same move four more times, though after the last one, Clint had to signal for a breather.  
  
It was a good place to pause anyway; the gap near the end of the walkway was too large for either of them to even consider spanning, and the only way that Tony could see across was the beam on the far left side...the side that stretched out over the abyss. He ran through a few calculations in his head, studying the three turrets that were marching about below them, trying to see if there was another way...but there wasn't. Well, there was, but Clint was too tired to even think about dangling from below, and Tony hadn't come this far just to let his teammate fall. He gestured to the beam, mimicked clinging to it and scooting along, and offered a hesitant thumbs up.  
  
Clint studied it for a long moment, his blue eyes dark above the ragged mask, and sighed softly, then nodded. It was their only chance to get home.

* * *

  
Crossing that gap was now on Tony's list of things to never, ever, EVER fucking do again; he hadn't ever considered, after the years he'd spent in the suit, that he might actually be terrified of heights...well, not heights. More like falling into a dark, shadowy abyss while being shot up by cute little turrets that fucking _sang_. Yeah, no, that was a legit fear, as far as he was concerned...and he couldn't help the faint sigh of relief when he finally was able to scramble onto the grating again. Clint's echoing one made him feel slightly better; from there, they took another long breather, both to figure out their next moves, and to calm down.

Clint's eyes had lit on the door that now faced them; Tony studied it too, feeling a little bit relaxed that it was open, not wide, but still open, and that the turrets seemed to move away from it at the same time...a flicker of movement caught his eye, and Clint's hand pointed to the turrets, then to the door, then the other came up to flatten out, both hands apart to indicate the space of time they had to get to the door. Tony nodded, and they made their way over the grating to just before the door; pity it ended twenty feet away, but the turrets were just now passing beneath them, and Clint counted out on his fingers to ten, then they swung down off the grating and hit the metal floor below running, the turrets' mechanized voices rising in alarm as blasts of energy tore into the rock faces on either side of them...  
  
Tony slid into the doorway, Clint a bare step behind him, and together, the two men grabbed the immense door and pulled it shut, locking it quickly. Panting, they both collapsed, laughing just a little, and Tony tugged down his mask long enough to grin at Clint, who did the same, high-fiving him.  
  
"I don't ever wanna repeat that, but that was kickass."  
  
"Yes, yes it was...now, where to from here?" It was a rhetorical question, of course; the only way to go was up and out, and they were back on the stone stairs, though these were considerably better cared for, with metal guards to help combat the wear on the stone, and railings. And much less dust; in fact, Tony felt a faint breeze stirring, and he took comfort in that.  
  
A breeze meant a way out...a way out meant a way home. He had no idea if the trackers under their skin were even strong enough to register this far underground, but once they got above ground, or even close to it, they'd be pinged by both the SHIELD and Stark satellites, and before they knew it, they'd have the Quinjet and their team getting their sorry asses home. Home...he ached, wondering how Rhodey and Pepper were holding up, how Bruce was doing, and Steve, Thor, Natasha....he knew, from the pensive, lonely look in Clint's eyes, he was thinking the same thing.  
  
"...alright, let's save our moping for another time. We owe it to them to get to where they can rescue us like the idiot damsels we are." Clint laughed at that, his earlier humor returning, and Tony offered a hand, helping him up, letting his own hand linger a bit. Clint glanced at it, but didn't tug his hand away; his smile softened, and Tony felt his warm in response.  
  
"You're right; besides, Tasha will kick both our asses."  
  
"Yes, yes, she will. So let's get moving, Legolas."  
  
"After you, Tin Man."  
  
"Hey! That's Hulk's nickname for me!"


	6. Something From Nothing

"So...can I ask about Coulson?" Tony felt a little at odds; they'd been climbing for another hour or so in silence, and it felt...oppressive here. Odd that it hadn't down below, with all the weight of history and two miles of earth pressing down on them...Clint paused in mid-step, and Tony winced, just a little. "Ah, shit, sorry, never mind..."

  
"...Well, I suppose it's nothing really big now." The archer sighed softly and turned, leaning his bigger form against the cool of the stone, rubbing his shoulders back and forth to scratch and itch as he fiddled with the gun. "We were a thing for a while, then New Mexico happened." Ah. That explained it...wait.

  
"You were in New Mexico when Thor came down?!"

  
"Dude, who else would they have there, since Tasha was baby-sitting your ass?"

  
"...I had no idea." There was a rough laugh at that, and Clint's eyes softened.

  
"Good to know we could keep some things from you, Stark. Look, we dated, slept together a couple times, but it wasn't a big thing; we were both married to the job. That kinda thing...it doesn't allow for relationships. Things were a bit tense when we both got assigned to watch over the Tesseract, but...well, after New York, and Phil coming back to life, we talked it over, since things were...a hell of a lot different now. But we both agreed, it's better to move on."

  
"...Teach me your ways of not fucking up friendships."

  
"Well, respecting someone as both a friend and a former lover tends to help."

  
"I respect Pepper! And Rhodey!"

  
"But do you show it to them?" The raised eyebrow Clint was giving him said a world of things, and Tony dropped his head in faint shame. No...no, he didn't show his best friends the respect they deserved. Especially after sleeping with them.

  
"...How can I fix that, Clint?" A callused, warm hand gently squeezed his shoulder, and Tony looked up to a gentle smile and kind blue eyes. Clint really was a handsome bastard, and a good, kind man on top of that; given his childhood, Tony couldn't imagine where that goodwill and gentleness came from. He still felt distinctly assholish that he'd whined for years about his father abandoning him, when Clint's had beat the shit out of both him and his brother till the old son of a bitch had died....

  
"Well, you're already on the road to succeeding just by asking, but right now, we really gotta get the hell out of here, then you can set things right." He blinked, then felt a rueful grin touch his own lips.

  
"You're right, I really don't need to be bringing this shit up right now."

  
"Dude, we've traded bad puns over the comms in the heat of battle before, I'm pretty sure doing a 'heart to heart' a mile under the surface of the earth in hostile territory is just par for the course. And let's be honest, there's no right time to bring this shit up." He laughed softly at that, and they started on again, the silence a little less frightening now, and the space between them a little closer. Not physically; there was only so much room on the narrow stairs, and Clint took point with his superior vision and skill, while Tony watched the rear. But...well, Tony was hesitant to put a name on what he was feeling, but whatever it was...it was nice. Nicer than he deserved, maybe, but...nice.

* * *

  
Clint paused them at the next large level, and let Tony lean over his shoulder as they both peeked out the opening (it couldn't be properly called a door, since said door was long since frozen open) and surveyed the area. It was the first level they'd reached since the offices that didn't have the gaping maw of a pit beneath it; instead, the dark floor forty feet below them was crawling with sparks of electricity as ten feet above, on a set of catwalks and assembly lines, turrets spidered around. Not very well, he thought to himself, and Clint's eyes narrowed in satisfaction at the assembly lines.

  
It wouldn't be easy, but he could easily see the stop buttons far across the room, and despite the faint glow from the obvious office space they were housed in, there weren't any humans, only the turrets. And the turrets weren't going anywhere near the office. Tricky, but manageable. And definitely something he could do without an issue. He pulled Tony back a little, and leaned in, his lips almost brushing the engineer's ear.

  
"Alright, so we gotta chance to get up an easier way now, but it's gonna take work on both our parts. I need you to use that gun to get rid of the turrets; see how they cross the white panels?" A swift nod, and Tony's familiar smirk made Clint grin wickedly.

  
"How thoughtful of them to put portal-capable panels on the walls, too. How about I fry the little shits?"

  
"Perfect. While you're doing that, I'm gonna climb the assembly line and get into that office..."

  
"...Where you'll shutdown the lines and I can see what I can salvage from the network."

  
"Even if you can't salvage it, shutting it down should knock out the turrets."

  
"You got it. Alright, what's our signal when you make it over there?" Clint grinned and pointed to the blinds, and after Tony squinted for a bit, he laughed softly. "Dude, you and your eyes..."

  
"It's a gift, Stark. I'm off; don't die."

  
"You better not either, I do not want to explain that to Tasha." Neither did Clint, because he knew for a fact she'd call on her connections and drag his sorry ass back from hell. He went back to the opening and scanned the assembly construction, taking a long, deep breath...and with all the grace of the skilled acrobat he was, reached out one long arm and grasped the main strut, swinging his body up carefully as to not alert the turrets. Tony flashed him a thumbs up and an admiring grin, and Clint got to work.

  
Now, this was a little like a similar assembly line set up in Bucharest when he'd first joined, small and with several very narrow spots as it curved from within six inches to damn near thirty feet down. It wasn't nearly as simple as just climbing the thing; for one thing, at least three of the curves dipped down nearly to the catwalks without any other way to cover the ten, fifteen feet between each peak, and with the line moving, he had wires, chains, and several hundred rollers just ready to take off a few digits if he wasn't careful. And of course, he had the turrets to contend with.

  
A sharp grin touched his lips; this was _his_ strongest talent next to being a sure shot. Sure, Steve and Tasha and Sam were excellent gymnasts in their own right, but not one of them had ever been trained by tightrope walkers, contortionists, and the acrobatic clowns from the time they were six to seventeen. And Clint still kept himself limber and in shape, because it was a skill that was easy to maintain, if you kept your head about you and did your exercises right. So, he undid the gun from his arm, passed it back to Tony, and began.

  
From the platform that covered the half-finished turrets being taken out of the production room, he started his slow, careful way across. First, bending himself backwards down the first curve, hooking the heels of his boots on the upper portion of the tracks as his body made the arch, eyes half-closed in concentration, arms bulked out but hardly shaking. From there, he slid around to the right, moving to the underside of the track and swinging across to the next track, hanging only by his arms now as he brought his legs up and extended his body to the max, hooking a leg over the track.

  
This part was a little easier as he avoided the ruby gaze of the turrets; he could clamber up like a monkey before he had to thread himself in-between the curling tracks. There was max about a foot and a half of space there for him to maneuver in, and not for the first time, he regretted not being fifteen forever. Or at least, the skinny shit he'd been back then forever. But he managed, only losing a little skin off his arms and a bit of hair from his scalp. He'd had worse, by far.

  
But that turned out to be the hardest part; after the tangle of track was behind him, he found that all he had to do was shimmy across the last twenty feet or so and shove himself through the hole in the wall. He grinned as he dropped at last to the filthy old carpets and slammed the stop button, yanking up the blinds with a flick of his risks, and he smirked as Tony stared wide-eyed at him.

  
Mission...  
_Accomplished._

* * *

  
Watching Clint cross the tracks was something akin to artistic pornography; Tony had always known he was good, but...Jesus. The sheer skill and power in how he held himself up without even straining was incredible, and it was all Tony could do to keep his own mind on the plan. He finally tore his eyes away from the tantalizing sight of Clint weaving his body through the junction of track and started making the turrets fly into the electrified floor, toggling the portal gun carefully so that the shiny little bastards didn't alert one another.

  
It wasn't easy, but before too long, he had a path for himself cleared, and Clint was yanking up the blinds, the assembly line stopped and he made his way over. The big bastard was grinning like he knew exactly what was going on in Tony's head, and swung the door open with an ironic bow at the waist.

  
"Welcome, good sir!"

  
"You are so full of shit, Barton."

"And all of you love it. Alright, we've got more offices heading off this way, and I spotted another staircase."

  
"More stone?"

  
"Nope, plain old steel steps, so we're in the right part of the labs now."

  
"I hope so, at least. Can we pause for a moment and let me look at the network?" The archer nodded and let him go to the computer banks, and when Tony glanced back behind him, Clint was busy scouring the rest of the office for supplies. He smiled, let Clint go back to his MacGuyvering, and focused his attention on the network beneath his fingers. Eyes narrowed as he scanned the ancient black greens with their poison green lettering, he felt himself go back twenty years, the old coding protocols and hacks he'd memorized as a pissy teenager still pertinent, even in this isolated hellhole.

  
Shutting down the turrets proved to be a harder task than he'd realized; it took him longer than he liked to get what he could deactivated, and even then, he was certain he hadn't gotten all of them. The system was just too antiquated in comparison to the sleek, futuristic robots, and it was obvious that the abort codes he could think of just weren't working...and there were no notes or emergency files he could dredge up to help. He did what he could, and finally straightened upright in the hard plastic chair, swiveling with a wince at the rusted out ball bearings. Clint eyed him, and Tony sighed.

  
"I didn't get all of them shut down; the system's just too damned old."

  
"Figures. I wondered after I saw the terminals; it's too much like that bunker that held Zola that Tasha and Steve infiltrated a year ago."  
"That's what I thought. But...well, nothing in here seems to be Hydra..."

"So it's just the tech of the period. Which is no bad thing; at least you know it."

  
"Damn right I do; I cut my teeth on computers bigger than the average college student's first apartment. But even my knowledge is nothing if the tech's been outmoded."

  
"Fair enough. Wanna take a nap, or keep going?" Tony sighed, looking around the office; it was a good question. He wasn't really tired yet, though some of that was definitely adrenaline. But the office was secure, lockable, and relatively warm; if they got tired later on, they might not have any of those very admirable assets at their disposal. That made up his mind; it was easier to pause now, and go for longer, later.

  
"Let's doze for a bit. We'll both feel better."

  
"Agreed." They both pushed the chairs away from the computer banks, and curled up underneath the consoles, sneezing at the carpet and pillowing their heads on a few moth-eaten cushions...and a tanned, callused hand reached out, tangling with Tony's own scarred, olive fingers. Blue eyes bored into his own brown, and Clint's lips twitched up in a smile. "We're gonna get back, Tony. You're gonna apologize to Pepper and Rhodey, and we're gonna have pizza and beer and watch Disney movies with Thor and Steve. You're gonna blow shit up in the labs with Bruce and Hank and bitch at Reed, and I'm gonna go back to hiding in the vents and scaring the fuck out of people with Tasha." A hard squeeze, then just warmth as their hands remained together. "We're gonna go home."  
Tony's throat felt tight for a long moment, and he had to close his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath....but he smiled.

  
"Yeah. We're gonna go home."


End file.
